


Forsaken

by Laine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Daddy Issues, F/M, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laine/pseuds/Laine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has shamed the family, tarnished their name, and Tywin Lannister cannot stand for that.  </p>
<p>(But how can he forsake his perfect golden princess?)</p>
<p>Written for <a href="http://workswithwords.livejournal.com/259929.html">You Win Or You Die:  A Game of Thrones Kink Meme</a>.  The prompt was: Tywin/Cersei; where do whores go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forsaken

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternate universe fic in which Tywin makes it back to King's Landing before Ned's execution.

“I am told that you spoke with Ned Stark today.”   
  
Cersei presses her lips together, forcing herself to contain her surprise-but of course. He has eyes everywhere.   
  
_And ears, too...?_   
  
Her blood runs cold, but she will not look away- lions do not cower, lions do not flee. Lord Tywin only stares back at his daughter, golden eyes matching the golden bauble around his neck. It eventually becomes too much to hold his gaze, and she lets hers shift down to fix on the ruby eyes of the lion pendant.   
  
She nods, and her father continues. “He advised you to flee the city?”   
  
“Yes.” Her jaw tightens, and she nearly snarls-  _the nerve of him, the gall...my father will set it right, he’ll put that Northern fool in his place..._   
  
Lord Tywin’s voice drops in volume, only a bit, words still and clear. “Perhaps he has the right of it. Perhaps you should go, you and your children both.”   
  
Cersei’s chin snaps upward; surely she must have misheard? Her green eyes go wide, her jaw slack, but her father only blinks back at her- still, still, still.   
  
“...What?” It is all she can think to say.   
  
His tone is still calm, but there is an undeniable menace behind his eyes, a hissing undercurrent in each syllable. “You have debased yourself. You’ve brought shame upon the family with your perversion. Perhaps it is best if you leave, before you damage our reputations any further.”   
  
Bile stings her throat as she clenches her hands into fists, nails digging deep into the skin of her palm.  _And what of Jaime? He’s as responsible as I for any of this...but of **course** , he’s your perfect golden  **son** , it’s much easier, much cleaner to blame me, to cast me as the temptress and the whore..._   
  
Vitriol pushes at her lips- she wants to scream and rage, and yet...   
  
The sadness seeps in, quiet and insidious. She crosses behind the table and stands before her father’s chair, breaths shaking- “Father...”   
  
How can he forsake her, his golden princess? Jaime may have been his one-time heir, his light and his hope, but it was she who kept him company in the Tower of the Hand, she who played cyvasse with him and listened to stories of battle and sat at his side in the Great Hall.   
  
And it was she who came to him on the rare occasions when he’d indulge in the wine (Arbor Gold, always...). She would smile as he opened the chest near his bed and draped her in priceless furs and lavish jewels- “Your lady mother’s”, he’d say, and she smiled even wider. And then he’d hold her in his lap, pressing his cheek to hers, stroking her glorious golden hair- “My little beauty, my little love.”    
  
She came to understand it better as she grew older. She understood the tenderness with which her father would kiss the skin at the corner of her mouth...and she understood the hardness poking at her side when she settled atop him. But there would be nothing else, nothing amiss- she’d only reach up and trace the lines of his face with her fingers, over and over again until she could memorize them. In these moments, the great Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, belonged to her and her alone.   
  
Cersei reaches for him now, her palm settling on his cheek, her fingertip delicately stroking over the furrows and wrinkles. Tywin’s eyes flutter shut, just for a moment, and she feels a leap in her stomach, a swelling of hope-   
  
But then he flinches away from her touch, scowling as if she’d burned him. “Leave me,” he spits, and he does not look her in the eye this time.   
  
As she backs toward the door, the Queen swallows hard, blinking her eyes quickly to keep the stinging tears from trickling down her cheeks.   
  
_A lion does not cower, a lion does not flee-  
  
A lion does not cry._


End file.
